


In The Night That We Look Upon

by GwendolynTrundlebed



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones - Freeform, F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'm Going to Hell, Loss of Virginity, Revised Version, The Name Of This Ship Is Beller I Guess, What Have I Done, Yay For Edits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 04:22:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15016580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolynTrundlebed/pseuds/GwendolynTrundlebed
Summary: It hadn’t always been Jughead.Often, when Betty Cooper had slipped into bed and allowed her hands to roam her body, she had thought of a man in a black hood. In her thoughts, he would come into her room—through the window or door, it didn’t matter—and roughly shake her awake. He would say a few threatening words, she would understand, and he would begin to touch her.Most of the time, her fantasy would take a comforting, silly turn. The man would remove his black hood to reveal Jughead’s grinning face, and he and Betty would proceed to finally lose themselves fully in each other, finally taking from each other the thing they simultaneously lost.But not always.(This is the edited version of Discovery I put up and subsequently took down a couple weeks ago. Obviously, I work as fast as Barry Allen...if he was in a coma.)





	In The Night That We Look Upon

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing was inspired by a few things (spoiler alert!):
> 
> 1) I thought Sheriff Keller would be the Black Hood. It made more sense to me than it being (spoiler alert again!) Betty's dad. Like, sometimes the Black Hood seemed weirdly...flirty with Betty?  
> 2) The scene where Veronica "interrogates" him in the basement was pretty great...and felt like the beginning of a parody fanfic. Going off of note #1, I wondered what would happen if it had been Betty instead and was, you know, serious.  
> 3) I hadn't seen any stories with this pairing, so I thought it might be fun to pair possibly the only two people in Riverdale who haven't been shipped.
> 
> Let me know what you think, and I'm sorry for any emotional distress this pairing may cause you.

It hadn’t always been Jughead.

Often, when Betty Cooper had slipped into bed and allowed her hands to roam her body, she had thought of a man in a black hood. In her thoughts, he would come into her room—through the window or door, it didn’t matter—and roughly shake her awake. He would say a few threatening words, she would understand, and he would begin to touch her.

Most of the time, her fantasy would take a comforting, silly turn. The man would remove his black hood to reveal Jughead’s grinning face, and he and Betty would proceed to finally lose themselves fully in each other, finally taking from each other the thing they simultaneously lost.

But not always.

Sometimes, in her fantasy, the hood would lift to reveal—and she hated herself for this—the face of Archie Andrews.

Sometimes—she hated herself more, and sent out a few mental apologies to Veronica—it would be Hiram Lodge’s face under the mask.

Sometimes, as she blushed with embarrassment and pleasure, it would be F.P.’s dark eyes that swept her body as he smiled at her wickedly.

And, once or twice, Sheriff Keller’s green eyes had stared into her blue ones as the hood dropped to the floor. (This was the only one she had told anyone about—Veronica had successfully dragged it out of her.)

It was that last Veronica-approved fantasy, now shaded with a certain amount of comic horror, that Betty thought of as the real Sheriff Keller sat in front of her and quietly watched her struggle with her bonds.

She had woken up here in the chaotic aftermath of the school musical. After Midge’s body had been unveiled, she had run backstage both in an attempt to escape the chaos and in an attempt to catch the Black Hood as he fled. Sheriff Keller, strangely alone—she hadn’t realized that until later—had calmed her down and told those in attendance to get home as soon as possible. He had given her a glass of water and offered to drive her home. After a quick, reassuring text to Jughead, she’d said yes. After all, who could be safer than Sheriff Keller?

But, as Keller had driven towards her house, Betty had started to feel the world spinning, and then fading, around her. She’d reached for his shoulder to get his attention and, the next thing she knew, she was sitting in the Sheriff’s basement, her arms and legs bound to her chair.

Sheriff Keller—he had told her to call him Tom, which felt like an odd pleasantry given the situation—had explained everything. As Betty gave her speech at the Jubilee and denounced the darkness within Riverdale, he had realized that one sheriff, hopelessly bound to the law, would never cleanse the town completely. He had already been disgusted with Riverdale and its secrets, and it hadn't taken much to bring him to the problem's logical solution. The only way to fight fire, the old cliché went, was with more fire.

He had listened to Betty's impassioned words, and his plan had fallen into place. He would become the Black Hood, a temporary, necessary evil. Framing Svenson for his crimes would be easy enough, and he could use his reputation to gain Mayor McCoy’s trust and her power. Even as Betty had tried to catch him, he’d remained one step ahead.

Betty had listened, but her surprise and foggy mind rendered her speechless for most of his monologue. As he finished, she now could think of only one thing to say.  
“You’re…you’re the sheriff. You’re supposed to protect us, and you killed all those people.” The words sounded hopelessly childish as she spoke them, but Keller seemed to take them seriously.

“I didn’t kill them, Betty. At least, not most of them.” Her name came out with an edge, and Betty felt a flash of self-hatred as her fantasy returned to her mind, the horror of it turned to perverse arousal. She couldn’t let whatever schoolgirl crush she’d had on Sheriff Keller (Tom?) affect the present gravity of her situation.

“Don’t lie,” she whispered fiercely, trying to turn her thoughts away from the image of his hands on her. “I saw Midge. And everyone knows about Miss Grundy and Svenson.”

“Betty…” Tom (yes, Tom) drew out her name this time, low and mocking, and she blushed. For the first time since he’d met her backstage, she saw a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Betty, you don’t need to play Nancy Drew. I’ll explain further.”

She leaned forward in spite of herself.

“Apart from Svenson, the Sugarman, and the woman you knew as Miss Grundy, I didn’t kill anybody. And I didn’t really want to kill anybody. Fred Andrews, the first person I shot, was an accident. I meant to hit his arm or leg to merely teach him a lesson. After all, I wanted this town to learn from its sins, not be picked off one by one. I only needed to make examples of a few people so that Riverdale would learn, and then I would return to my normal position and let the Black Hood fade into a hazy urban legend. I let people think I was a murderer, however, because people are much more likely to do what you want when they think their life is on the line. I’ve learned that many times in my career. But yes, Fred was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Betty asked. “Out of everyone in Riverdale, you’re probably the most experienced with a gun. How could a trained police officer miss, Tom?” She addressed him by his first name, wanting to unsettle him as he had her, but the smile playing on his lips merely deepened.

“Nancy Drew again. Well, Betty, when you’re firing at an acquaintance of yours—your son’s friend’s father—your aim tends to be thrown off by the shaking in your hand.” His expression changed to one that lightly reflected remorse. “I didn’t mean to hit him in the chest. I’m glad he lived.”

“And the others?” Tom looked at her patiently. His eyes seemed to travel down her body, and she felt an odd warmth spark in her chest.

“Miss Grundy was an outsider who preyed on children. So was Svenson, though Riverdale was unaware of it. I thought killing him while he posed as the Black Hood would both get rid of him and take the town’s focus off of the killer until I felt comfortable enough to find Midge and finish my work. The Sugarman was also an outsider, one who who sold drugs to students and created division between our residents. I killed all of them fairly easily, and it was enough to keep Riverdale on its toes. Your friends Moose and Midge, like Fred Andrews, just needed a lesson. I shot him in the leg and, as you saw, did something similar to Midge at the school earlier this evening.”

“You stabbed her.” Betty thought back to when she saw Midge’s body on the stage behind her mother. “She’s dead.” Tom sighed.

“In your rush to capture the Black Hood, did you take a closer look at her body? She was breathing. There was one knife in her arm—not very deep. I called an ambulance before I met you backstage. She’ll be okay.”

Betty found herself growing angrier, both at his nonchalance and at the fantasy still on the fringes of her thoughts. “Why did you do it, then? Why them?”

Tom met her eyes again, and the heat in her chest spread. “Think about it, Betty. Moose and Midge and Fred will learn. They’ll never touch anything stronger than alcohol ever again—Fred will find a woman who’s not married to Hiram Lodge. They were on these dead-end, self-destructive paths, and now they’re newly adored by the town because of their brushes with death. They’ll be able to do good things with their lives.” He paused, looked almost pleading. “I only took the lives of those who deserved it, Betty. Those who hurt and abused others. And, by taking down those predators, I’ve done what’s needed for now. The Black Hood is finished. Understand that.”

Betty gazed at him, considering his reasoning. She thought of what she had done to Chuck—she’d tried to teach him a lesson by, what, nearly boiling him alive? Tom’s “lessons” were on the far side of insane, but they weren’t really that different from what she’d done when she was—as Veronica called it—Dark Betty. The idea that she and Tom had a similar darkness both repelled and intrigued her. She kept her voice steady.

“I understand.” Tom nodded. Betty hesitated.

“I just want to know one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“Why am I here?”

Tom’s slight smile reappeared instantly. Despite it, he looked as though he was choosing his words carefully.

“You know, Betty, I used to always see you simply as Kevin’s friend. I liked you, thought you were a good influence on him, but I never devoted much thought to you.” His eyes pierced hers. “Then I saw you onstage at the Jubilee. I realized that you had become a smart, strong, beautiful young woman. You inspired me, but you also…attracted me.” His smile broadened, finally, into a grin.

“I liked playing those little games with you…hearing your voice on the phone. And you nearly figured me out.”

Betty remembered. “I confronted you about being the Black Hood. But you showed me your evidence files, and I took that as proof that you were innocent.”

Tom nodded. “I needed to throw you off long enough to finish what I needed to do. It was easy enough to convince everyone else, but I did enjoy watching you attempt to gather enough evidence against me. And, when Veronica Lodge came looking around down here, I found myself wishing it was you.” He moved closer to her, and Betty took a breath. The heat in her chest had spread and settled below her stomach.

“Would you have liked that, Betty? Finding me down here all alone? Using your school paper skills to interrogate me?” He laughed quietly at her expression. “Would you have run away?”

Scenes flashed from a new fantasy through Betty’s mind—her running, him chasing her, catching her on the stairs. His rough hands tearing at her jeans, wrapping her legs around him. His lips against hers as he thrust into her, made her desires real.

“I don’t think you would have,” Tom continued. “Veronica came over again a few days later. She didn’t think I was listening when she told my son about finding me down there, or when she told him about telling you that she found me down there. How she thought that 'Archie Andrews had better watch his back.'” He adopted a quiet, affected tone as he quoted her, and Betty knew what was coming. “I wasn’t interested in her opinion, but I was interested when she told him that you’d been blushing the whole time she told the story, and how you hadn’t been able to answer when she teased you about having a crush on me.” He moved closer. “And how, when she’d asked over and over if you’d ever fantasized about me, you admitted to having a very interesting one involving me, a home invasion and a black hood. Kevin wasn’t amused, but I certainly was.”

Betty looked at him, unable to speak. Her entire body felt hot, exposed.

“But I want to hear it from you. Was she right? Have you ever fantasized about me, Betty?” Her voice again came out with an edge, one that was nearly a growl. The laughter was gone from his face, and his eyes roamed her body freely. He leaned in to hear her answer, briefly glancing at her breasts, and Betty recoiled. The tension in Tom’s eyes disappeared, and suddenly he was Sheriff Keller again, reasonable and measured.

“I won’t do anything that you don’t want, Betty. I don’t want to hurt you. If you’d like to leave, you can. But it’s with the condition that everything that’s happened tonight, everything I’ve told you, stays between us.”

Betty thought of everything he was saying, and of everything that had run through her head. She looked at him.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ve fantasized about you. And I…I want you to…I want to stay here.”

He wasn’t letting her off the hook. “Stay here and…talk? Play Nancy Drew?” The smile reappeared.

“No.” Betty steeled herself. “Stay here and…make those fantasies real.”

Tom nodded and knelt in front of her, inches from her face. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t waste time giving my guest what she wants. I hope you’ll enjoy it—and taking into account everything I’ve learned about you, Betty Cooper, I think you’ll enjoy this even more than you think.”

And then he was kissing her neck, his lips moving against the pale skin. Betty gasped.

“T-Tom…” He pulled her back to him, his hands braced against her shoulders.

“Does the Jones boy ever do this?” His hands slipped under her blouse, and Betty flinched at the reminder of Jughead’s soft smile. Tom paused. “If you like, you can leave. You can find Jughead and give him comfort, let his inexperience take over, and go to sleep happy but unsatisfied.” He leaned close to her neck again.

“Or, you can take the option I like. You can leave Jughead out of it. Instead, you can stay here and let me explore every inch of you.” He laughed that mocking laugh again, but his eyes were serious. “And go to sleep wanting more.” He looked at her, waiting for a response.

Betty hesitated momentarily, but she knew what she would say.

“You and I have a darkness inside of us. For one night, I want to explore it.” Tom’s hands trailed down her shoulders.

“Good answer,” he whispered, and then his lips were against hers. He found her breasts again, and his fingers explored every curve of them. Betty moaned and strained against her bonds, but Tom shook his head.

“Not yet. I want you tied up a little longer.” He kissed down her chest as he unbuttoned her blouse, and Betty caught his eye as she looked down. He paused over the blush spreading across her breasts.

“Did you ever think about this, Betty? Ever touched yourself and imagined my hands in place of yours?”

Betty nodded frantically, needing him. “Yes.”

“What about my mouth?”

The blush spread to Betty’s face. She looked away.

“Yes.”  
“What would I do with my mouth?”

Betty said nothing. Tom leaned in as if to share a secret. His smile widened as her cheeks turned red.

“Betty…” There was that growl again, now oddly playful. “Now is no time to be shy, Betty.”

She couldn’t answer. Tom’s voice was now barely audible.

“Maybe I would do this.”

And the lips that had been on her neck fell to her breasts.

Betty gasped again as he traced their swell and settled against her left breast, his lips covering the tip, hiding the circle of soft, pink skin. His teeth caught her, and Betty cried out in surprise and pleasure. He bit down hard, and she felt a hard, hot ache course through her body. She pushed herself toward him, wanting that ache again. He moved to her right breast, his desire reflected in the way he gazed at her body. Repeating his actions, he kissed her gently. Then, as she began to calm down, he bit her again. He was rewarded with a cry of “Tom!” and chuckled as he soothed the ravaged skin with his tongue. The ache spread again through Betty’s body, and ended as a new, curious slickness between her legs.

Sensing her need, he lifted his hands to her breasts again and explored them once more. As he did so, he kissed down her stomach, stopping when he reached the dark surface of her jeans. He met her eyes again.

“You know what I want, don’t you, Betty?” She nodded frantically, breathing hard, still focused on his hands.

“Please…please…”

He sat up, his hands trailing down to her waist. “I’m going to untie your legs, but you have to promise not to move.” His eyes flashed. “Promise?”

She nodded blindly, kicking her legs against her restraints.

“Breaking your promise already, I see.” But he loosened the bonds that held her legs, and immediately began to slip her jeans from them. Betty lifted her hips as much as she could, and Tom pulled them from her waist, leaving her covered only by her underwear. Betty suddenly felt self-conscious at the sight of them—white and girlish, they were just one more highlight of her inexperience.

Tom didn’t mind as much as she did. “You know, I was quite pleased when I noticed that thoughtful Betty Cooper had just so happened to forget to wear anything under her shirt. Period accuracy for the musical, I’m sure. It’s a shame that didn’t extend to these, but I’ll manage.” He kissed her knees and began to make his way forward along her thighs, his hand stroking her as he did so. Betty took a breath every time his fingers neared her entrance, and the aching spot above it, but he carefully avoided giving her what she needed. The slickness between her legs grew, and she knew Tom could feel it through the thin, damp cotton.

“Are you wet for me, Betty?” Betty was growing tired of his questions, and she trapped his hand between her knees.

“Touch me, Tom.” The fierceness in her voice surprised her, and she expected him to tease her again, but his hands lifted again to her waistband.

“This might feel a bit better.” Betty felt the twisted material slide to her ankles, the air against her skin. There was a pause, and Tom’s fingers wrapped lightly around the most sensitive part of her, the spot no one but her had ever touched.

“You can move now, Betty.” He squeezed, and Betty cried out again.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, and she breathed heavily in anticipation of his next touch. Somewhere in her haze, she could hear him breathing hard, too.

“You’re so beautiful…” His finger entered her without warning, and Betty flinched again, wincing at the stab of pain. Tom looked concerned.

“Is something wrong?” He tried again, more slowly, and this time Betty felt him meet resistance. He looked at her, waiting.

“Betty? Is there something you’ve forgotten to tell me?” It was one of the few questions he’d asked that required an answer. She straightened, trying to maintain a little bit of her dignity.

“I’ve never…done this before.” Tom was genuinely surprised.

“Never? I would have thought you and Jughead...”

“No.” Betty shook her head. “We were waiting for the right moment.” Tom’s fingers returned to her, idly stroking. Betty's fleeting thoughts of Jughead vanished almost entirely.

“And is this the right moment?”

“I…yes.” Tom glanced at the fabric still around her ankles. To Betty, it looked blindingly white, an unwanted reminder of her virginity.

“Well, I guess that explains those.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice. Betty didn’t answer. Tom seemed to understand the conflict still playing out in her mind.

“I told you that I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want, Betty, and you can stop me at any time. If you need to be persuaded, however, I can do that, too.” Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he pushed her knees apart, positioned his head between them, and kissed her softly.

For a second, Betty was embarrassed. It felt strange, and she worried that he would change his mind, find her disgusting. Then his lips found that small, charged spot, and, just as he had done with her breasts, he caught her between his teeth and drew it fully into his mouth. At that moment, she stopped caring. Fear, doubt, the fact that Jughead was no doubt wondering where she was--nothing existed outside of what Tom Keller was doing to her.

“Yes!” she gasped, attempting to pull him closer with her knees. He obliged, and Betty felt the heat inside her begin to build again. He tasted the slick proof of her arousal, and, as she cried his name, he slid the tip of his tongue teasingly against her entrance. Betty let herself fall forward against him.

“Please…I’m about to…” At her words, Tom suddenly stopped and drew back. Betty moaned and strained her wrists against her chair, frustratingly close.

“Are you trying to punish me? Am I supposed to beg the Black Hood to let me come?” She was still on the edge, and she barely noticed as Tom straightened and began to unbutton his shirt.

“If I wanted to punish you, Betty, I would have made you leave a long time ago.” He pulled his shirt from his shoulders and began to unfasten his belt. “But don’t you think it would be better if I begged you to let me come at the same time?” He stepped out of the rest of his clothes and stood before her, and Betty automatically looked away from his body. Tom’s voice was gentle.

“Have I persuaded you, Betty? Do you want to continue?”

Betty forced herself to look at him, and simultaneously forced herself to admit that Veronica had been right to be enthusiastic. She looked at Tom’s chest and pictured it against her soft breasts, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her to him as he pleasured her. But, by this point, she knew that fantasies would often have a darker side.

“Yes, but…will it hurt?” She chided herself for again sounding so childish, but Tom didn’t mock her. Instead, he knelt beside her and freed her wrists. After he did so, he pulled her to him, his skin flush against hers.

“Not if we do this the right way.” He kissed her lips softly and trailed his hands down her back. She kept her hands clenched tight against his chest, and his mouth moved to her ear.  
“Touch me, Betty. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Betty ignored the voices in her head, telling her she was crazy, he was the Black Hood, what she was about to do could not be undone. Instead, she reached down and stroked the length of him. Tom’s breath hitched, and Betty felt a small sense of satisfaction that she was finally the one teasing him. She stroked him again, and his hands tightened on her shoulders. He leaned forward, and she was suddenly on her back, Tom above her. He looked down at her hungrily, and she realized then that she didn’t want a soft, gentle fantasy with righteous Sheriff Keller. She wanted the look that had been in his eyes, and the edge that had been in his voice. She wanted the Black Hood.

Tom seemed to have the same idea, and his hands stroked her as he spoke—making her newly wet, preparing her. “I wish I could wait, but I don’t think that would do either of us any good.” He kissed her forehead gently as he positioned himself between her legs.

“Do you want me to go slowly?”

Betty shook her head and closed her eyes. “Just get it over with.” He laughed apologetically.

“I said I’d give my guest what she wants.”  
There was a brief instant where Betty thought he might indeed wait, but then he thrust forward, his hips catching against hers. Betty felt a sharp stab of pain, and something gave inside her, letting Tom slide fully inside. Tom shifted, trying to adjust, and Betty bit down hard on her lip. Tom kissed her again and began moving slowly.

“It’s okay, Betty. It’s okay.” Betty kept her eyes closed as he moved, willing the pain to subside. Tom stroked her hips and breasts, and the pain slowly began to give way to pleasure. Soon, she was pulling him closer to her, the loss of her virginity represented only by the receding ache.

“Tom…harder…” Tom thrust deeper, and Betty felt herself drawing nearer to the edge again. She thrust against Tom’s hips in the same way he had hers, and he muttered her name under his breath, pleading, whispering that he was as close as she. His hands covered her and left hot, aching desire wherever they touched.

She felt herself getting closer, feeling as though she could no longer take it. Right as she thought Tom would be first, he growled again, that same edged “Betty!” and bit down on the pale skin of her neck, the place where he had begun. She fell over the edge as he did, and she cried out his name as they took their release.

Tom rolled off of her and lay beside her, his arm loose around her waist. She looked at him, breathing hard.

“Tom, that was…” His eyes sparked deviously.

“Not bad? Worthy of another interrogation?” In his eyes, she saw the Black Hood, and she shivered in fear and delight, the dark part of her blazing.

“Stop asking questions,” was all she managed to say before he pulled her back to him, mouth against her breasts, starting all over again. She knew she’d regret it in the morning, feel it in a weight in her chest and an ache in her thighs, but right then she succumbed. They held each other, exploring, the darkness within them shining in the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I regret everything and nothing.


End file.
